Jeannie

by Thinking Horndog

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Was he a stalker and a rapist and who knows what -- or was he something else?

He watched her as she shuffled slowly to the front door of her apartment block. She was maybe five feet five, brunette, slightly built. The nose was a little long, maybe, and a bit bulbous at the tip -- but not much, and it didn't detract from the frail beauty of her face. Her bust -- well, that was what had drawn his attention initially. It wasn't huge or anything, but it seemed substantial on her slight frame. That had been several weeks before, when she'd been out in a midriff top with a scoop neckline that displayed some cleavage. The legs were never seen directly, but they were thin -- he could tell from the fit of her jeans and the lumps of her knobby knees.

Today, she was pushing a wheeled walker along in front of her, having been to the grocery store, apparently. Sometimes, she went about on crutches, and sometimes in a powered wheelchair, but mostly it was the walker. He admired her spunk -- clearly, life was hard, but she kept going -- alone.

He had no idea what was up with her -- MS, maybe? She seemed fine above the waist -- even below that. The problem seemed to occur somewhere between her hips and her knees; he had high hopes that it was on the lower end and not the upper.

'Today's the day, ' he decided. Every day for a week had been 'the day' when he left his small place a couple of blocks over, but he'd chickened out regularly. This time, though, he was as ready as he was going to get. He stepped away from the telephone pole he'd been leaning against and shambled forward.

He was tall -- over six feet -- and narrow, with whipcord muscles over heavy, lumpy bones. He had his gifts -- he could run fast, for instance, something he might need on this day -- but he was homely, with a lumpy face pitted by acne scars. He shuffled forward, sticklike calves extending below his baggy shorts leading to a pair of large feet, his upper body masked by an oversized hoodie that hung off his thin frame.

The girl -- Jeannie was her name, he knew -- was trying to get through the outer door of the apartment building without upsetting her walker. He shuffled up and grabbed the door, dragging it open, muttering, "Here, let me help you get that," in a muffled voice.

She turned her head and murmured a quick, "Thanks," but didn't see his face, as he deliberately turned it away. Then she pushed on through the door, and he followed her, gaining entrance to the lobby.

He'd done this kind of thing several times over the past few weeks while he scoped the place, looking for surveillance cameras. There were none. This was the first time he'd done it with her, however, and it meant that he was committed to his course, now, and could not back out. He turned to the mailboxes and pretended to hunt for his key while she shuffled up the hallway; it wouldn't do to be following her, as slowly as she moved. He waited until she was almost to her apartment door before he began to move; she gave him plenty of time while she fumbled with her key, pushed the door open and heaved the walker forward over the threshold. He pulled the green facemask he'd purchased at the Army-Navy store down from where it had been perched atop his head under the hood of his hoodie and whipped through the door as she turned to close it, slamming it behind him, then stood there while she gaped at him in surprise.

"Wh-what do you want?" she quavered. "I don't have any money."

"Not here for that," he grunted, his voice guttural. "What happened to your legs?" 'Might as well find out if I'm wasting my time, ' he thought. He could always withdraw if the trip was a waste -- it wasn't as if she could chase him down.

"You could have just asked..." she muttered.

"I just did."

"I was in an automobile accident, several years ago," she related, sighing. This wasn't usually the first question someone asked; courtesy seemed to dictate that it be the third or fourth. "They were crushed. There was a lot of nerve damage, so I don't control them very well. Look, I've got maybe twenty bucks..." She started digging in her purse.

"Does your pussy work?" he blurted.

Jeannie froze, her hand on the Taser she'd been about to pull from her purse and fire. "What?"

"Oooookaaaayy..." she replied, withdrawing her hand from her purse. "Thanks, I think. Now what?" 'I hope I live to regret this, ' she thought, 'Actually, I hope I live to NOT regret this!'

He'd rehearsed this in his head about ten thousand times -- and it had never gone like this. Feeling his way forward, he said, "Don't yell or scream or do anything that would make me have to hurt you, okay? I really don't want to do that." He tugged on the walker and she let go of the handle; it rolled away, isolating her.

"My balance isn't good," she warned.

"Just hold still." He came forward. "Don't start hitting or anything." He slid a pair of huge hands under the hem of her blouse and onto her bare back.

The natural thing to do seemed to be to wrap her arms around him and put her head on his chest. "Maybe we should date."

"You're not an ugly bastard like I am!" he cut her off. "One look, and..."

She froze. "It's not me?"

"Naw. You're hot -- or I wouldn't be here getting ready to go to jail for a couple of hundred years just to get a feel..."

She frowned, her expression hidden from him by their position. "It can't be that bad."

"It is."

"Were you in an accident, too?"

"I AM an accident! Let's not talk about it."

"I'm gonna have to sit down in a minute, or I'll fall down," she warned.

"I could pick you up, but..." She would have both hands free while he was encumbered -- not a smart thing, despite the way things were going.

"Help me to the couch."

He released her -- reluctantly, but her legs were shaking. He braced her forearm while she turned slowly and made her way to the couch. Instead of sitting on the seat, she settled on an arm.

"This is a little higher. What now, masked man?" she asked.

"Unbutton your blouse." His mouth supplied an answer while he was still thinking about it. "Why are you doing this?"

"What?" Jeannie blinked at her 'assailant.' "Isn't that MY question?"

"It is -- and you haven't asked it," he replied. "I spent weeks working myself up so I could come in here and do whatever was necessary to subdue you and keep you quiet -- and I haven't had to do anything! I'm confused. When are you going to shoot me or whatever? You're not screaming or fighting and you don't seem to be scared of me at all -- what am I missing?"

"Well, you haven't hurt me..."

"No, and I don't want to."

"I believe you."

"Why should you?"

"Because I'm not on the floor on my back with you holding your hand over my face while you tear my clothes off!" Jeannie replied.

"You know, that's how I figured this was going to go," he muttered. "I didn't like the idea, but..."

"Okay, so, I don't want you to hurt me, so I'm cooperating -- all right?"

"Yeah, okay..."

Jeannie cocked her head. "You seem disappointed."

"No, just confused. It's STILL rape..."

"Okay. Is it important that it be rape? Are you mad at women? Are you here to take it out on me?"

"No! Jeez, you make my head hurt!" he complained, "It isn't women's fault that I'm ugly. I wouldn't be here if one had ever taken an interest in me, but I can't BLAME them. It's about sex, okay? I gotta have it."

Jeannie eyed him. "Do you do without a lot?"

"Forever." After a moment, he whined crankily, "Are you gonna take that top off?"

"No problem." She reached back and popped the clasps and shrugged the bra off, draping it over her blouse on the couch back. "This is my better half, I guess." She arched her back and turned a bit in profile.

"Oh?" He struggled to remain calm. 'God! They're BEAUTIFUL!'

"Yeah, well, my legs got pretty bashed up..."

"Well, those jeans are gonna have to come off..."

"Yeah." For the first time, Jeannie looked seriously unhappy.

"Is that why you never wear shorts?" he asked.

"Yes." She cocked her head, eyeing him. "How long have you... ? Do I know you?"